Bare-Knuckled and Broken (MOVED!)
by Sherlocked in the Pandorica
Summary: Moved to my main account. Go check out "Yesteryear's Killer Liner" to read this, please. Sorry for any inconvenience!
1. Broken

"Rule one of Fight Club: Do not talk about fight club.

Rule two: Do NOT talk about fight club!

Rule three: If someone yells, goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over

Rule four: only two men to a fight

Rule five: one fight at a time

Rule six: no shoes, no shirt

Rule seven: fights will go on as long as they have to

Rule eight: If this is your first time at fight club...

You have to fight."

Allistor breathed heavily as he mopped the sweat from his face. The loud shouts of the fight club echoed around him, but to him, it was just another fight won by the resident bare-knuckle fighting champion. Today, it even felt like a burden to him. He knew that no one would be there to fix him up after he left the Hellhole. It wasn't worth it without him...

"Next fight!" The chairman, Mathias, shouted, with all the flare and finesse of an official WWE announcer. "Fighting prodigy from St Petersburg, Russia, Ivan Braginski, versus our reigning champ, Allistor Blackwood!"

"'at's my cue," he grunted to no one in particular, tossing the towel aside halfheartedly.

His challenger was no one to sneeze at. He was maybe two inches taller than Allistor; about 6'4". Solid. His skin was pale white, and his hair was a white-blonde, with blue eyes that almost looked purple standing out against his light skin and hair. He had big hands, as well. That would leave a mark...

He entered the crudely made and worn ring, shaking out his hand, getting into position.

"I am thinking that you will be going down, da?" His challenger said, his voice surprisingly more high-pitched than expected, given his tough, bulky physique.

"We'll see 'bout that," Allistor grimaced back, cracking his knuckles and preparing himself as much as he could through his scattered thoughts.

"Fighters ready?" Mathias grinned. "Start!"

Before doing anything else, Allistor made sure to close the distance between himself and his challenger: an Irish stand down. Once the first hit was made, there would be no room for either of them to run. Just a series of hits, dodges, and eventually a tap out.

It would seem as though Ivan had the same idea. Before he could realize it, a punch made contact redhead's face. Glaring angrily, he tried to return it. All he felt was the swoosh of air as he missed his target; he had moved out of the way. Growling, he tried again. His punch seemed to bounce off the Russian effortlessly. The challenger's turn; a punch to the jaw, again, and to the arm.

Allistor could tell he was off his game. He usually was able to get more hits in less time. He had to end it soon; keep his title. But why couldn't he do it?

"Tch-" Ivan growled as one of Allistor's punches sailed into his face. Finally, one that would leave a notable bruise instead of a minor abrasion. "You will be paying for that..."

In a blur, Allistor was down on the mat. "Get up..." He told himself. Hearing the Russian behind him, he rolled out of the way, he rolled to the side, barely missing a hit. He looked to the spectators. Was that...?

He was snapped from his daze when he was hit with excruciating force to his lower leg. A sickening crack was heard, but the crowd wouldn't hear it due to the ruckus. He screamed out in pain, and nearly all noise stopped. Mathias blew his referee whistle, rushing over to stop the fight.

Allistor breathed heavily, grimacing in torture at the pain. Even Ivan looked a bit concerned, though not much. "Someone call 999!" Someone shouted. "Say he got in an argument and a fight; can't have him arrested!"

"Haah..." He breathed, his eyes closing. He had wanted to see Francis again, but not like this. Not when he was proving the Frenchman was right.


	2. Mac Aulley

If there was one thing that everyone knew about Liam Mac Aulley, it was this: he could take a hit, physically or mentally. He'd probably been in more fights than anyone else at his school, which was saying something. In all honesty, he had probably been the cause of half of them.

You see, Liam had a knack for getting in trouble with both teachers and classmates alike. He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the can academically, and therefore spent plenty of time in detention. As for getting in trouble with his classmates, well... He was a prankster.

All this made him sound like like a total slacker, but it wasn't like he was dumb. He had plenty of street smarts, though; he knew his way around London inside and out, which was useful when he pissed off some bloke on the street. And boy, did that happen often.

In fact, he had been running from some gits on his way to the hospital. Maybe he had taken his little prank too far by putting ketchup packets under the toilet seats in the boy's locker room... But seriously? They were going to beat him up over a stupid prank? Twits.

Rounding the corner, the teenager made a stupid move. He had turned into an alley that ended in a dead end. "Shite," he cursed as one of the knobheads closed in on him.

"He's over here, mates!" Liam readied himself for a fight, keeping his arms turned in. He was going to...

His thoughts were interrupted by a fist colliding with his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Before he could get his wits about him, another hit sailed into his jaw. Red liquid ran down his chin; a busted lip. He had to do something fast...

Catching his breath, he kicked the back of the cunt's knee, proceeding to run away as he shoved the other two boys away. He had to get to Niamh...

~XXX~

"'Afternoon, Francis," the Irish said as he walked out of the elevator.

"Bonjour, Liam," the frenchman replied. His blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his violet-blue eyes scanned over the boy in front of him. "You were in another fight, oui? Would you like me to take a look?"

"Yea," Liam said, sitting down in the chair Francis had pulled out for him."Ye know it'll be worse if Niamh sees me like this." Chuckling and nodding, Francis looked at the bruises and cut on his face, along with the bruise on his chest.

"A bruised rib, at most; I think you'll be fine."

"Ta," Liam replied as Francis handed him some gauze with isopropyl alcohol for his lip. He recoiled as the damp rag touched his skin. "Fuck!"

"Silence, si vous plâit. That will keep it from being infected, so no complaints.

"Yea, yea..." He listened as the doctor told him how his sister was doing, though he didn't understand half the stuff he was saying. She was doing better, but she still needed surgery after the crash. And of course, it just so happened to not be covered by the NHS.

Liam thoughts wandered upon remembering it: The crash.

There are plenty of evils in this world, but one Liam hated more than anything, and it wasn't tipping the bottle. It was drugs. Two months ago, Niamh had been been hit by a car. Niamh, his older sister, his only family left in this world. The person who had hit her had been high on crack.

They had almost lost her.

Liam's fist clenched as he thought about it, walking into Niamh's room. He wanted to let that bastard have it for what had happened to his sister. Speaking of which...

"Liam!" Niamh shouted upon seeing him. "What the hell happened to you! Are ye playing pranks again?" Her green eyes shone in anger.

"Good to see you too," he grumbled. "I come to see you, an' that's the first thing you say?"

The girl sighed. Her brother was the biggest nitwit ever. "Alright, fine... Hello. What the hell happened to you?"

"Just some boys from school; ain't a big deal... Blimey, Niamh! Francis said I'm fine!" He said, still seeing the worried look on her face. "Fuck; I'm supposed to be the one worrying about you!"

"I'm fine, Liam."

"No you're not! You need surgery! How the fuck are we going to pay for that; I'm in school, but you can't work; ye can't even leave the hospital!" He flailed his arms in a rage. Normally, the Irishman could keep his temper under control, but once he was angry, it was hard to calm him down. "I just don't know what the bleeding shit to do!"

"Calm the hell down!" Niamh shouted at her brother. "I already know all of this; I'm not stupid!" Just because she was in the hospital didn't mean she was weak; who did he think he was talking to? "Come here..." She said after a long silence. He kneeled next to her, and she hugged him tightly.

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Liam. It might not be the easiest way, or the best, but there'll be a way." Liam hugged her back.

"I'll find that way, Niamh. You know that I will, come hell or high water."

* * *

Whoops. Another short chapter... I promise they'll be getting longer, now that I'be finished the introductions.


	3. Notice

Moving this story to my main account. Go check out Yesteryear's Killer Liner, or my AO3 account, Yester.

Cheers!


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